The Architect
Chapter 0 of my short story about....well you have draw your own conclusions. There are plenty of clues along the way. I would be interested to see what people come up with. Really great fun writing and I hope you guys appreciate how the stories tie up a few loose ends as well. The Architect - Chapter 0 As the woman passed the gate she would always get an intense feeling of relaxation immediately. It washed over her whole body like a warm bath. You could tell that this area was infused with calmness and love. So this is it. She stood at the foot of the hill and tried to make the most of all it had to offer, given the unfortunate reason she had come to be here. She could feel the cobbled path through her thin leather shoes. She appreciated the shape of the cobbles and the nostalgic feeling she got whilst treading on them. In the distance the windmill was slowing rotating as it always had. Its blades cutting the rays of the light from the sun that shone on the cottage. She took a deep breath. At least it is here. He deserves that. She headed towards the building at the top of the small hill. As she reached the well she noticed that the bucket had been left in the well again. Why does the young boy do that? She proceeded to wind the crank that hoisted the bucket up from the well. She was surprised how long it took her to wind it to the top. It must have been quite deep. It was rather difficult as the cranks handle was badly dented and had certainly seen better days. Satisfied that the bucket was now in the correct place, she continued her journey up the path slowly. She took a minute to bask in the various shades of bright green grass and trees and was always shocked at how perfectly peaceful it felt here. Yes. This is the perfect place. As she got to the front of the cottage, she noticed the chickens had all made haste to make their presence known to her. They had all burst out of their coops and were clucking and wafting their small wings in a frenzied way. They must be hungry. They probably haven’t been fed for days. She was right. They ate the grain she put out for them with furious velocity. Clucking loudly and happily as they did. I remember when we used to kick chickens as children…... What dreadful children we were. She smirked at the thought as she made her way into the cottage. The cottage inside appeared gloomy. The shutters to the windows were left ajar only letting in a small amount of light. There was a thin layer of dust on the table in front of her adding to the bleakness. There were dirty cutlery and plates left in the sink basin. The stagnant water that surrounded the items was brown and smelt of old cheese. She moved around in the once inviting family cottage. She held various trophies and pictures that had been collected over the years and proudly displayed on seemingly every available space in the cottage. She gently touched an old trophy. He always loved to collect junk. She found herself smiling again as she continued to thumb various items scattered about. It was going to be dark soon and a fire hadn’t been lit. That young boy has one job to do and doesn’t even do that. She turned to the fireplace and set to work starting a fire that would warm the house for the night. I don’t want him to be cold. She heard a floorboard creak close by. “Hello boy.” She said continuing to start the fire. “I know why you’re here. You only come when something significant is happening” The young boy said louder than was required. The woman remained silent. “He’s going to die tonight, I know it. He is so weak now, so old. He’s asleep now I’ve kissed him goodnight.” The boy no older then twelve had always been incredibly clever and would always work out situations around him quicker than the average boy. The woman interrupted the boy. “Why do you leave the bucket at the bottom of the well?” she wanted to steer the topic on to something else for now. “The Bucket?” the boy said confused. “Yes. On my last visit months ago I noticed the bucket was left at the bottom of the well and today the same again. Would you care to explain?” “I get bored, I must occupy myself somehow.” the boy said looking at his feet sheepishly. His black-haired quiff flopping over his face as he did. Before the woman had a chance to reply he said. “From my window I shoot pebbles at the crank handle with my catapult. I guess it eventually lowers the bucket all the way down. I won’t do it again.” The boy looked genuinely apologetic. The woman stopped tending to the beginnings of the fire she made and faced the boy. He repeatedly hits a crank handle one inch think from 50 feet away with a catapult out of his bedroom window? “Do you hit the crank handle every time?” she asked inquisitively. “Yes…” the boy said without a shadow of doubt and an undertone of cockiness. The woman realised that she may have previously underestimated the boy’s abilities. Possibly with his father being of ill health, she had failed to notice the boy’s skill or potentially had focused too much on the young boy's much older brothers and sisters who had all left the family home decades earlier. This child had ability and needed to be nurtured. She never thought much of the boy when he was dropped off with a note saying “It’s yours” for the old man to find. “What will I do?” the boy said. He was starting to get upset. She could hear the beginnings of a crackle in his voice. “I will make sure you are OK young one” the woman said reassuringly. “Thank you." the boy said, as he ran over to the woman and hugged her. He started to weep. “It’s not fair, why is he so old? Why is he so weak?” the boy said through muffled cries. “This is the way of things boy.” She whispered as she embraced him. “No it's not, and you know it isn’t. It's not fair.” The boy pulled away and nearly tripped over an overturned stew pot as he left the cottage running down the path towards the gate. I must nurture his ability. She placed one last log onto the fire before setting off up the stairs. So this is it. The creaking of the floorboards was enough to wake anyone. As she got to the top of the stairs, she saw him laid in his bed. He appeared to be wrapped up well. At least the boy had done something for his father. He lay there so peaceful. She almost didn’t want to approach, didn’t want to disturb his rest. “You are here….” The man said in his low powerful tone. “I am...I am always here. You know that.” she moved close to the man and grasped his hand. They were old hands. Scarred from years of battles and frail due to the course of time. The power these hands once held had gone forever. She gently squeezed his hand. “It was worth it you know.” He said looking at her showing that smile that he had melted hundreds of woman’s hearts with over the years. The woman smiled back. “I will watch all your children. I know what they are capable of.” She rubbed his shoulder gently. “And the boy..?” He said. “and the boy….. I will ensure he has a nice childhood and his skills are developed.” The woman smiled again. “Ill even make sure there are chickens to kick.” She joked softly. The large man smiled and as he did a single tear rolled down his cheek. “Thank you.” His breathing had become strained and irregular. She realised that the end was coming soon. “And you…?” he asked with shallow breath. “I will continue to watch.” “I bet..” he said smiling again. “I….I have this weapon…… Please can you pass it on?” She looked next to the bed where a weapons stand stood. There was a massive jewelled axe sitting on the frame. “To the boy?” she said confused. “It didn’t choose him. It contains amazing power. It can only be used by the hero the weapon chooses. I know you’ll find out who can wield it.” “I will.” She said with absolute honesty. “It won’t be long now…… I can feel it…… The weight of the world is lifting….It's peaceful.” He closed his eyes. He whispered softly. “I love you….always have.” His chest movements stopped and with that he had left this world. The woman sat there for a few moments continuing to rub the man's shoulder and squeeze his lifeless hand. She stood up. She spent a time making sure that he was wrapped up tightly and neatly. “I love you too” she kissed him on the forehead and wiped the tear that had rolled down his cheek. She picked up the axe. “Good bye Hero” As she left the cottage, she placed the axe in the chest. It will choose someone someday. It was beginning to turn dark and the warmth from the sun was beginning to fade away. As she walked down the path, she saw the young boy still crying sat on a rock. “Is it finished?” he gasped. “It is.” She said holding back her own tears. She reached for the boy's hand and took it firmly. She pulled him up and began to head towards the gate. “What will I do now?” he said. “You’re going to re-build our house.” she said to the boy. She had never been so certain of anything in her life.